I am writing this to the steady thrum of rain on my window. I'm perched on the ledge in my room, alternating between looking outside at the trees swaying gently and Googling the usage of the word "thrum." I live in a part of Delhi where I can actually hear the birds chirp, and right now, the steady beat of the rain is interspersed with thunder and a cuckoo. My window overlooks a government school; the roof of which has always been the favourite for peacocks. Growing up, I'd hear the peacocks screech and know if it was going to be a rainy day. Sometimes, the peacocks would come out for a dance too, shimmying their feathers and wooing a forlorn-looking peahen. (I'd always think of them as forlorn anyway.)
A Ramble of One's Own
A Ramble of One's Own
A Ramble of One's Own
I am writing this to the steady thrum of rain on my window. I'm perched on the ledge in my room, alternating between looking outside at the trees swaying gently and Googling the usage of the word "thrum." I live in a part of Delhi where I can actually hear the birds chirp, and right now, the steady beat of the rain is interspersed with thunder and a cuckoo. My window overlooks a government school; the roof of which has always been the favourite for peacocks. Growing up, I'd hear the peacocks screech and know if it was going to be a rainy day. Sometimes, the peacocks would come out for a dance too, shimmying their feathers and wooing a forlorn-looking peahen. (I'd always think of them as forlorn anyway.)